Let's be Sane Together
by Darkfangz13
Summary: It's John's first Christmas with Sherlock for a flatmate! But, luckily for him, Lestrade is there to keep him sane for the Holiday.
1. Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve

John looked up at the tentative knock on his office door. He frowned a little. He had begged Sarah a few minutes rest from work and decided that whatever had the woman at his door not thirty seconds later must be something serious. "Come in." he called out in a very business-like way, not looking up from the obscure documents he was scribbling at.

"Evening, Dr. Watson." John looked up with a pleased smile at Lestrade as the man shuffled into his office, shaking flakes of snow off the shoulders of his coat. Then the corners of John's smile inched downward slowly as his mind clasped at the first reason the DI would be on his office threshold. "Okay, what did Sherlock do this time?"

Lestrade chuckled a bit at the resigned doctor. "Nothing so far, just checking in on you." he assured the man at the desk.

"'Checking in on me'? Why?" John asked, eyebrows quirking a little. "Am I in some kind of danger?"

"To some degree, in a way." Lestrade deadpanned. "Nothing too physically dangerous, I suppose. But you'll learn to prepare yourself for the worst."

Silence reigned as John watched Lestrade unwrap his scarf from around his neck and made himself at home in the armchair opposite the desk from him. "Alright, I'll bite. What should I be preparing for?" he asked finally.

"Well, there will always be Sherlock dashing about, knee deep in snow, for his cases. He'll probably want you along for that." Lsetrade ticked off his fingers. John frowned a little, worriedly. "You'll have him asking numerous questions about the logic behind alot of Christmas decorations and traditions... most of which I don't know myself." John's frown deepened. "Mrs. Hudson will probably have knitted an obnoxiously coloured piece of garment, usually pink, and she'll expect you to wear it." John nodded, he had deduced that when the little lady had inquired after his size earlier in the day. "And you'll have random kidnappings, or unmarked boxes on your doorstep from Mycroft, wishing you a Merry Christmas." John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "And while we're on the topic of gifts, Sherlock will probably give you something utterly horrible that he thinks is amazing, so be nice about it. And Mycroft will give you a wonderful gift that is either bugged, or has some other mode of surveillence on it, get rid of it as soon as possible."

John dropped his head into his hands despairingly. "Ugh, kill me now." he moaned pitifully.

Lestrade grimaced. "And... that's in a good year."

John lifted his face out of his hands and sent him a guarded look. "Do I even want to know about a bad year?"

Lestrade tapped a finger to his chin in mock-contemplation, then grimaced at some terrible memory, and shook his head. "No."

John sighed. "Why am I not surprised?"

Lestrade reached over and patted John's shoulder sympathetically. "Don't worry, it's worse at New Years."

John rolled his eyes at the DI. "Oh, thanks! I feel much better now." Lestrade just smiled at him.

"Well, I'd better be going now." Lestrade sent a furtive glance at his watch and pushed himself out of his seat. "Left Sherlock at Bart's and all. He should be done torturing his cadaver by now."

John raised an eyebrow at Lestrade. "You have to deal with Sherlock over the holidays too?"

Lestrade, who already had one foot over the threshold, lingered in the doorway and made a confused expression. "'Holiday'? What's a holiday?" Then he smiled at John. "Merry Christmas Eve, Dr. Watson. Maybe we could go out for a pint after Christmas to celebrate our surviving the weekend?"

John smiled back gratefully. "I have a feeling I'll be needing it."

"Well," Lestrade chuckled jokingly. "we of inferior IQ should stick together, keep ourselves sane-like." Then, with a polite nod, Lestrade loosely wrapped his scarf back around his neck and left the office, closing the door after himself.

John turned his gaze from the door to the calendar on his wall, glaring at the small date marked in red, and sighed, dropping his forehead onto the surface of his desk.

And he was supposed to be the one who liked Christmas!


	2. Christmas Day

Christmas Day

_Oh! The weather outside is frightful,_

_but the fire is so delightful!_

_And since we've nowhere to go,_

_let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!_

John yawned and rubbed a hand across his face sleepily, barely registering the music wafting up from downstairs. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and tugged his warm covers around his shoulders. He sat there for a moment or two before ghosting around his room for a clean change of clothes.

He clambered clumsily down the stairs to his and Sherlock's sitting room a few minutes later, still hunting around for a clean sweater. "Sherlock," he called out. "seen a sweater?" he asked, rubbing goosebumps from his arms.

"Oh, I've got just the thing for you, Dr. Watson." Mrs. Hudson smiled cheerfully, suddenly appearing at John's elbow.

John jumped, but recovered quickly. He turned to their landlady inquisitively.

And his heart sank into his stomache.

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson..." John faltered, taking the very pink sweater offered to him. "... just what I needed, thank you." The sweater was tied with a lovely red bow. _Pink and red DON'T match. _That was what Harry always told John, growing up.

He awkwardly shuffled into the sweater and looked pleadingly toward Sherlock who merely held up his pink-gloved hands for observation. John turned back to Mrs. Hudson and smiled, though forced. "It's great, Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh, it fits you perfectly!" Mrs. Hudson cooed back in satisfaction.

"Yes it does, thank you." John thanked her politely, what else could be said?

What else had Lestrade warned him about yesterday? John couldn't help but wonder cautiously as he shuffled into the kitchen to make some toast. Oh yes, cases, questions, gifts, and Mycroft. John took a deep breath... it wouldn't be so hard, would it?

John let out the breath he had just inhaled. Who was he kidding? It was the Holmes brothers he was talking about!

* * *

><p>"So," Lestrade prompted, "how is Christmas so far?" he asked John, eyebrow raised, when Sherlock and he showed up at his crime scene. Thankfully, both Donovan and Anderson had taken the Holiday off, leaving no distraction for Sherlock.<p>

"Oh, wonderful." John replied simply. It wasn't the greatest Christmas he had, but it wasn't the worst... yet.

Lestrade smiled and nodded. "Good." Then he turned to Sherlock. "Alright, what have you got for me?"

"A man who walks with a limp, probably elderly." Sherlock pointed at the victim. "You'll find that, although being clubbed about the head, the victim has been poisoned. There's no way the killer could've subdued this victim with his level of physical setback unless the victim was already dead when he was beaten."

Sherlock turned sharply to Lestrade. "Not much other than that, not much that's important to the case, that is." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, thanks for your help, Sherlock." Lestrade sighed with relief.

"Oh, and before I forget..." Sherlock held up a plain wooden box under the DI's nose playfully. "Come on, Lestrade, you know you're curious..."

Lestrade rolled his eyes and sighed. "I really couldn't, Sherlock. I don't really want a replay of the Christmas before." John's brow pulled together worriedly.

"It wasn't that bad... was it?" Sherlock asked meekly.

"You showed up at a crime scene and gave me a gift-wrapped box housing preserved human ears... in front of all my officers." Lestrade deadpanned. Sherlock's face fell dramatically and Lestrade sighed. "Not for the lack of trying, Sherlock. It's just that I'm more interested in the story behind the..." Lestrade lowered his voice as a forensics officer passed by them with an apologetic cough. "... evidence in question." Lestrade continued when the man was out of earshot.

Sherlock looked contemptuously from Lestrade to his box and bit his lip silently. Lestrade rolled his eyes and gave in. "Alright, give it over. I'll see what it is that you've gotten me this year." Sherlock handed over the box and smiled.

Lestrade peeked into the box and quickly shut it again. He breathed in deeply through his nose and pressed his lips together hard. An awkward beat passed. "You're awful quiet today." Lestrade noted aloud, obviously fishing for some distraction.

Sherlock scowled a little. "John told me that Christmas is the time to be nice to people... I'm conducting an experiment, seeing how long I can last before I break under pressure and finally tell someone how stupid they are." Lestrade just snorted and ushered Sherlock out of the scene.

"Whatever, good luck with that." He patted John on the shoulder on his way out. "And good luck with him." He nodded at Sherlock's retreating back.

* * *

><p>"Ears, wasn't it? Last year." Mycroft intoned, seated comfortably in John's usual chair, legs crossed and hands folded over his umbrella on his lap.<p>

"Human ears, yes." John responded distractedly as he set about, pouring tea for the three of them in the Baker Street flat.

"Ah, of course, evidence from one of the earlier cases Sherlock had worked with Inspector Lestrade." Mycroft mused.

"Used to have a bit of a row with Gregson, back then." Sherlock chuckled. "He was still so tenacious and surprisingly conventional, bit green though." Then he shrugged his shoulders. "None of that now, he's just... sort of... resigned about the fact that I know things and he doesnt."

"You've broken him." Mycroft snorted.

"'Gregson'?" John inquired curiously.

"A fellow copper, rival during their academy years, as I understand, he still works as a humble upholder of the law in Oxfordshire." Mycroft informed them.

"So, what gift did you give him this time?" John asked with genuine concern for the Yarder.

"Clay, I imagine." Mycroft scoffed at Sherlock. "Or, maybe something else of case-related sentimental value? God knows what manner of things you manage to burrow in your ridiculous excuse of an archive."

"Better than recieving a wristwatch set with a random Geiger counter." Sherlock shot back.

"Saved his life, though, didn't it?" Mycroft raised his eyebrow challengingly.

John just listened very quietly and massaged his temples. What wouldn't he give for a normal Christmas with normal companions?

"Well," Mycroft clapped his hands together as he raised himself from his seat. "I should be getting to accomplishing something useful."

"Ah, your annual kidnapping marathon, I suppose?" Sherlock snarked.

"Just friendly warnings, Sherlock," Mycroft corrected, "you know how the criminal class of England adore their fireworks and festivities. That James Moriarty especially." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And don't forget, Mummy is expecting us for Boxing Day... the both of us." The man felt the need to clarify.

"Oh, Merry Christmas to me." Sherlock muttered sarcastically.

"Indeed." Mycroft hummed back as he waltzed out of the flat, umbrella twirling with as much flair as Sherlock with his coat. John watched him leave with a slight chuckle at the comparison.

"We're nothing alike, John." Sherlock growled suddenly with no real malice.

John started. "Sorry, what?"

"You were looking at Mycroft's umbrella, then you glanced at me, and then at my coat, and you laughed. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the proceedings of your..." Sherlock caught himself. "...pedestrian brain." He grimaced in distaste.

"Good of you to say so." John smirked at the struggling detective. "Oh, before I forget..." John produced a wrapped package from seemingly thin air. "... Merry Christmas."

Sherlock took it. "I didn't get you anything." He said awkwardly. "Well, I did but Lestrade confiscated it in his attempt to make this Christmas resemble normality for you."

John's face was carefully devoid of any expression. "Pity." But he inwardly thanked the DI.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "Just thought you should know."

John reclined in his seat and watched Sherlock pick and prod at the wrapping, taking care not to rip it. When the gift was finally exposed, Sherlock smiled, raising an eyebrow at John. "A microscope."

"You did manage to destroy the other one with the homemade IED that discharged on the kitchen table." John shrugged his shoulders.

"I could've always gotten another one at Barts." Sherlock pointed out.

John made a disapproving face. "Pretty sure it's against the law to steal government property, Sherlock."

Sherlock examined his new microscope and smiled, pleased. "Well, you might have a point."

"Glad you like it." John smiled back.

"Such a pity that you don't have any present to give John, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson shook her head sadly, breezing into the flat with some warm tea and scones. Then her face lit up with a bright idea. "Oh, I know! Maybe you could, like, let off your investigations, at least until Christmas is over. You could always do with a break from all those murders."

Sherlock pursed his lips, deep in thought. "Fine," he relented, "but only until tomorrow. John, keep your coat close. We're going out at 12:01 sharp."

John smiled and shook his head. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

><p>Lestrade looked up briefly from his paperwork as his phone let out a cheerful chirp and grabbed it. It was a text from the one and only Mycroft Holmes. <em>Working late? <em>It read.

Lestrade pushed himself from his desk and sighed. After a moment's deliberation, he decided that the paperwork could be finished tomorrow. He got up and exited his office. His phone chimed at him again. _Is now not a good time?_

Lestrade stalked briskly out of the building, throwing his coat on as he walked. He rounded the first corner and approached the black vehicle parked just out of sight from the New Scotland Yard. He rapped the tinted window for the passenger seat lightly with his knuckles. The window rolled down and Mycroft peered out. "Good evening, Inspector." he greeted.

Lestrade noted that Mycroft deleted whatever text he was in the process of typing and pocketed his phone. "Hello, Mycroft." he responded with gruff politeness. "I see it's that time of year again. Come to kidnap me?"

"No, just here to ask an old acquaintence for a friendly chat over dinner, perhaps?" Mycroft raised his eyebrow inquiringly.

"It's very civil of you to buy me dinner before you threaten pain and suffering, should Sherlock come to harm on my watch." Lestrade drawled. Mycroft just inclined his head and rolled his window back up. A moment later the passenger door on the other side of the car opened, beckoning Lestrade to it.

"'Come into my parlor', said the spider to the fly." Lestrade grumbled just loud enough for Mycroft to hear before he moved to the open door.

* * *

><p>"Are they dating?" John asked over Mrs. Hudson's wonderful Christmas dinner.<p>

"Who?" Sherlock inquired, nibbling on a stalk of celery.

"Well-" John grimaced. "I don't think it means anything, but doesn't Mycroft usually send one of his minions to kidnap people?"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose so, why?"

John shrugged his shoulders innocently. "Well, Lestrade said he gets personal visits."

Sherlock scowled. "Well, if that's Mycroft's definition of 'dating', then I'm sure Lestrade is still oblivious."

John furrowed his eyebrows. "Should we tell him?"

Sherlock pressed his lips together. "Probably not. Although, I think Mycroft will be extra wary of what you say to the Inspector from now on."

John looked at him, confused. "Why?"

Sherlock lowered his gaze to the wristwatch Mycroft had presented to John as a gift. "Because that's bugged and Mycroft heard every word you said." he told John nonchalantly.

John followed Sherlock's gaze and blanched.


	3. Boxing Day

Boxing Day

Lestrade tore his gaze from the bar surface as John approached. "Evening, Doctor. I see you're still alive to celebrate. How was Christmas?"

John let out a strangled noise and plopped himself on the stool next to Lestrade. "It wasn't terrible. I guess you could label it a 'good year'." John grimaced. "Only, Mycroft has forbid me from speaking to you ever again. I'm only here now because Mycroft and Sherlock have gone to their mother's for Boxing Day."

Lestrade blinked. "What the bloody Hell did you do?"

"I observed." John moaned. "Damn Sherlock's influence."

Lestrade just nodded sympathetically. "Right. I think you could do with a pint." John showed a grateful expression as Lestrade ordered the drinks. "So, if you don't mind me asking, why doesn't Mycroft want you to talk to me?"

John opened his mouth but no sound came out. Lestrade made an aborting gesture. "It's okay if you don't want to tell me. I've got the feeling that Mycroft will kill you if you do."

John's eyes widened innocently and Lestrade felt the urge to assure him that Mycroft would do no such thing... but he didn't, he wouldn't put it past the man.

Then his phone vibrated. _I see John Waston has deliberately ignored my threats. _The text from Mycroft read. Lestrade winced.

"I think you should get back to Baker Street Doctor." he told John as calmly as he could so as to not agitate the man further. "Boxing Day with the family, or no, Mycroft's got an ear to the ground." John jumped up and fled.

Lestrade shook his head. _Lay off the threats, why don't you? _He texted back to Mycroft. _What's the Doctor ever done to you? -G Lestrade_

_I merely wished to impress upon John Watson the importance of secrecy when handling delicate inteligence. -MH_

_Do I even want to know? -G Lestrade_

_If I told you, I would have to kill you. -MH _Lestrade rolled his eyes.

_Oh, really? -G Lestrade_

Mycroft's responding text came only half a moment later. _Immediately and without hesitation. -MH_

Lestrade ignored the urge to retort as Mycroft's next text arrived. _P.S. Happy Boxing Day. -MH_

Lestrade turned his phone off and stared at it for a long moment. Then he turned it back on. _Sherlock's given me his microwaved-eyeball experiment... what's left of it, that is. -G Lestrade_

_I will send someone to dispose of it. It will be gone before you even return back to your flat. -MH_

_Thanks. Happy Boxing Day. P.S. John Watson. DON'T kill. Cheers. -G Lestrade_

Then he turned his phone back off, sighed, and ordered another pint.

He would need it.

At least it helped him keep some semblance of sanity.

The End


End file.
